Remembering Malik
by NotebookPaper
Summary: A daughter to a merchant and friend to the leader of the Jerusalem Assassin's Bureau, Nora comes to deliver the usual goods to find that Malik has returned from a mission in a sorry state. Dig for hinted romance, if that's what you want. One-shot.


Title: Remembering Malik

Author: NotebookPaper

Pairing: Somewhat MalikxOC

Notes: I'm not fond of pairing original characters with cannon characters, but it just seemed fitting when I pondered how Malik might have finally come to terms with himself. I hope I'm not the only one who thought he might have needed an extra push in forgiving Altair, though this, admittedly, is only veeerrry small push. But I still think three segments in the area just wasn't enough to cover the character development, and the thought of his own men coming to him didn't make much sense to me, for one reason or another. I'm out of my comfort zone here! And with this being my first Assassin's Creed piece, I'm really hoping I didn't start out too boring... I really wanted to delve into what Malik would have been like before the game, though it's only just hinted at in here. All we really have to go on is an obvious love for his brother, his sense of honor and the loyalty of his men. The good characters get such little screen time ((Not that Altair is bad or anything! xD)) Oh, I wrote this in one sitting and posted it, by the way. An edited version may come, but I sort of want to step away from it for a while then come back. I hope I still like the OC idea, and I hope there weren't too many errors.

The streets of Jerusalem, teeming with life and strife, were gleaming with the final rays of the setting sun when a woman with many barrels about her shoulders walked into the seclusion of a wayward sitting area. At this time, the area was bare of the usual sitting occupants taking refuge from the glaring sun, as this was the time to return home and the changing of the guard. It was also the routine time the young woman chose to deliver supplies to the elusive Assassins via the rooftop entrance to their Jerusalem bureau. Yet even under these lax conditions, it was necessary to use the utmost caution, for it was strange enough to have a woman climbing a ladder, and something else entirely when she carried heavy enough wicker baskets to promise food for many, many men. Giving away the secret location of her father's best customer would not bode well for business, and thus, secrecy was crucial. Her timing, ever perfect after bare minutes of hiding in one of the long shadows cast by the low sun, reaped the most opportune time to climb the ladder to the roof. There was very little struggle considering the heft of her load.

Wiping a thin sheen of sweat from her forehead, the woman turned toward the roof entrance, then deftly slipped the load from her shoulders, feeding the rope they were bound to down inside the surprisingly luxurious Assassin's Bureau. She'd made this trip many times, and so the once daunting drop, especially for a woman in a dress, no longer phased her and was over before she even realized she was wiping her hands on the skirt of her outfit. One thing was strange, though. Usually she was greeted by the leader of this city's sect of assassin's, but the hall was strangely quiet, and the atmosphere tense. Stalling her curiosity, for it was not her place, she lugged the baskets up once more and walked around to the doorway, keeping her face low, and her eyes secretly searching.

"The caravan has stopped in Jerusalem. The supplies for the Bureau are here, including the new set of pillows and the white feathers specially plucked by my father," she called even as she came to realize that the usual Bureau Leader had returned, relieving the temporary replacement she'd seen her last three times here. For a moment she expected her heart to race, even prepared herself to stifle it, for assassins were sensitive to the subtle difference in blood flow, but found that the somber atmosphere doused any flames. Her observant eyes moved to the man's side, the not-so-long sleeve showing the absence of one arm. Perhaps she was hardened to such occurrences, braced for events most likely normal for assassins, for she didn't need to school herself into not expressing her surprise. "Malik has returned."

"Yes, Nora, I have." A sigh developed halfway through the short greeting as he turned from the bookshelf to the counter, waning as he watched the woman set the baskets next to the entrance to the alcove.

Usually he went right into checking the supplies, his brow furrowed as his scrutiny drifted over every parcel and cushion. It was her favorite part to have him find nothing worth his scrutiny, but today he merely stared hard at the baskets, a slight sneer developing just before he turned away from her, he waving the arm he still possessed a little too prominently. Nora did her best to hide her slightly ruffled demeanor. She had waited so long for this man to return…

But it was not her place, and so she quietly walked towards another shelf to collect the brilliantly placed sum of money snuggly fit between two dusty tomes, the currency meant for her to take home to her family. Stifling a disappointed sigh, she turned, slipping the money through a fold in her skirt. She made for the door again, walking backwards as she exited.

"I bid you farewell. The patronage is-."

"Surely you see this lameness of mine?" Malik suddenly scolded, turning towards her with a look of anger she almost dared to hope, and believed, was forced. "You do not expect me to sift through this myself, do you? Leave, and your family has stolen that money from the Brotherhood." The tone sounded defeated, even with its edge, The slightly joking demeanor she was accustomed to completely absent.

"I apologize; I thought it not my place to mention the wound, Malik." She quickly went about unloading her cargo, keeping her eyes focused on her labor.

"This? This is not a wound. It is a stump with a scratch almost fully healed. I am lamed." The tone was disdainful, and uninviting to a reply from her lips, though it seemed as if the man wished her to stay, to ask about whatever pain was wracking his body or mind. He merely watched her in silence though, even when she finished and allowed herself to smile at him.

"All is here and accounted for, Malik."

He blinked once, then the man sighed again, his eyes dropping from her smiling face as an incredulous smirk took his lips just before he turned away from her.

"As always. It is no wonder your parents allow you to deliver to their prominent customers. There is not one roof that would not allow you its shelter." Unruffled by the overstatement, Nora checked the bounds the strung each basket together, though her smile turned secretly sad behind him.

"There is not one roof under which I'd rather be sheltered, Malik."

He turned around as her eyes drifted back to her task, he suddenly feeling the need to speak, or rather allowing the need to be sated.

"You will not ask me of my trials?"

"Do you wish to tell me, Malik?"

"Only if you will not hide behind the courtesy, and act your usual self. Only by this demeanor can I see you are truly bothered by the absence of this appendage."

Nora allowed herself a chuckle through her nose. At least she wasn't the only one who noticed subtle differences in demeanor aside from that which was more directly related to blood-sport.

"More so bothered by the absence of you, Malik."

Malik eyed her out of the corner of his vision, one eye slightly narrower than the other, then gave a half-hearted smirk that quickly faded to a frown as she turned to find a place to sit.

"I lost my arm to the idiocy of one of my own brothers, and lost yet more than my own arm's blood. The man, Altair… he lead us with a head full of nothing but himself, dishonoring our Creed, and escaping with nothing more than a scratch to his killing record." He stared at his hanging sleeve with yet more disdain.

Even after hearing so little Nora still perceived the rage building within the man as he became silent. She had a feeling she would not hear more until something in the room was broken. Best to avoid that.

"And you are mad enough to spit at a camel, Malik?" she asked quietly a few moments later, knowing it would deflate his rising temper at least a small bit to hear a speck of humor. Soon after, his chin rose and he regarded her curiously, perhaps trying to hold his own anger at the thought of being a cripple in check.

"Why do you finish all your sentences with my name? This is new for you." She smiled at him.

"To remind you who you are, Malik."

"Hmph. You speak nonsense. I know who I am. I am Malik, a brother by blood to one who no longer lives." He turned away from her, and thankfully missed her suddenly struck expression. 'Kadar? No…'

"Malik…"

"I am lame without my arm. They allow me to remain in my post out of pity. They will never send me on a mission of importance again. Idiots like Altair will go instead, and it is only a matter of time before he is laughing over my dead body when they remove me from my post." The palm of his hand came to rest of the counter, his fingers soon pressing into the wood as if it would give way to the strength of his joints like the fabric of a pillow. He could almost see the specter of his other hand beside his right. "Al Mualim speaks ideally, but he is not stupid enough to keep a cripple in so precarious a position."

"Malik, it is your sword arm you have been deemed worthy to keep." she said, not allowing him the chance to continue even if her words didn't make much sense to start. "Do not tamper with the fate your life has clearly set for you, and do not degrade yourself. You are still Malik, and you know as well as I do that you are no more crippled with the absence of an arm than when you once challenged Kadar himself to a duel with one hand tied behind your back. And that was many years ago."

It might have struck him as odd that a daughter of a merchant, one known for his traveling caravan, had heard such a tale when she surely could not have been present anytime near the event. But it was more so the truth in her words that made his fingers stop gripping the wood of the counter, as well as the easy, but oddly reverent, mention of his brother. This one, in the time they had known each other, had come to love both he and Kadar. If she could speak so, and with the same truth to her tone as always, then why was he not moving on as well?

"You are right. I remember that Malik. What is wrong with this one?" He sighed, defeated once more, though this time, admittedly, by himself. Nora regarded him curiously.

"I think he feels displaced, suddenly below the one who forced him into this mess while he gets used to not having a second hand everyday." Though Malik knew what she didn't, that Altair had been demoted, it was odd that her words still again resonated with truth. "When you pick up your sword again, and realize the one arm left is still good, I am sure you will find him, you, wholly right. There is not so much wrong with the you I see now." She suddenly stood, walking towards the baskets, feeling she might have overstepped her bounds, though they were easy to pass behind these door-free walls. "I will be back when the caravan returns. I will miss you."

Malik seemed to be lost in thought for a few moments, and the sudden atmosphere kept her from leaving during his silence.

"Go well, Nora. I will await your return, and Malik's as well." Though the words told her that he was still a long way from fully accepting his predicament, his tone this time did not sound so defeated.

"Peace and safety on you."

"On you as well, Malik."

As she made her way from the Bureau, Nora found that she didn't doubt the warmth of her return, or of his own, would rival the heat of the now set sun.


End file.
